


Just sleep

by life_not_knife



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Angst, M/M, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/life_not_knife/pseuds/life_not_knife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A single lamp post stands outside, its bulb long since broken."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I have some emotional issues that I need an outlet for, so… this is it. I chose Taekai because they just work so perfectly for me in this type of situation.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-  
  
The rain patters on the pain of glass. A single lamp post stands outside, its bulb long since broken. Pitch black engulfs the apartment at this early hour of 5pm. Winter has come, and with it the shorter days and longer nights. Taemin wanders through a dark maze of furniture that he has come to memorise by heart, his need for sight no longer a necessity. A soft glow passes across his face every now and again as the occasional headlight shines through the window each time a car meanders around the corner of the street. There is an accompanied sound of swishing tyres on wet tarmac, quick and faint, the cars going faster than the assigned 20mph. Then everything turns back to silence, everything fades to black.  
  
There is another soft glow, this time landing upon the length of Taemin’s body as he opens the refrigerator door, a familiar jingle from the glass jars and alcohol bottles knocking together. He pulls out the bottom drawer, the sound of plastic grating and squeaking against the runners of the shelf above is jarring to the man’s sensitive ears. The ash blonde hair of the man falls across his features as lithe, creeping fingers clasp coldly around the beer can. The drawer squeaks again, door clunking closed. A hiss is heard, the excess gas escaping the pressurised can as bitten down fingernails pull back the tab.  
  
The taller than average male walks slowly back to the bedroom, his socked feet making no sound against the laminate flooring of the kitchen/living room. His footsteps remain silent as they sink into the plush carpet of the bedroom. The door is left wide open, there is no need to close it. Nobody is going to walk in. There are no lights to block out or sounds to dispel. All that can be heard are the lashing noises of the rain against the bedroom window, the wind picking up and whistling wildly, rattling like a loose bolt in a car engine.  
  
A soft squeaking of springs and the sound of the circular, aluminium base hitting the bed side table accompany the man as he settles back into the soft covers. The bedding smells a little off. Stale? Dusty? He isn’t sure, but either way, he isn’t going to do anything to change it. Taemin doesn’t like change, he has decided. Nothing good can come of change, not for him, not in this world. His back is slumped lightly into the two pillows behind him. His pale, bony ankles are crossed casually but his frame only takes up one side of the large bed. The right hand side, closest to the window. He had fought for this side, he remembers it as clear as day.  
  
 _“It’s closer to the window and I need the fresh air!” Taemin whines._  
 _“But you’re always cold…all the time… if you’re near the window you will end up complaining about the cold whilst I roast to death over here.” The man counters back._  
 _“I don’t even know why you’re arguing Jongin, we both know that I will end up getting this side of the bed, so we might as well just skip the battle.” Taemin explains._  
 _“Yeah well… one of these days, I will win. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The younger man says but his grin is cheeky and suggests that he knows, he knows that he will give Taemin everything that he wants because he loves to see him happy. He also knows that Taemin will shower him with kisses and cake and video games in exchange for this compromise._  
  
That was a long time ago now. Jongin’s grin is no longer reflected in Taemin’s dark pupils. His tanned skin no longer stretched across the other side of the bed, lips pulled into a pout and forehead creased because he is too hot. The AC is off, a compromise they had eventually made in the end. Taemin’s eyes flick from their place on the left of the bed to the wall next to it, the air conditioner as silent as the rest of the apartment.  
  
His right hand extends to the bed side table, retrieves the ice cold beverage and brings it to his lips with a small amount of gusto. The smell of the beer already permeates the room, the sheets, and every pore of Taemin’s skin. Right now the bubbles tease his nose, the smell pungent and intense. His nose crinkles at the intensity but he still tilts the cool metal against his plump, chapped lips and takes a large gulp of the bitter substance.  
  
He stays this way, drinking and thinking. Voices in his head calling him back to the fridge when he finds the can to be as dry as his soul. He stares ahead at the clock on the wall. It reads 4:17. AM or PM? It doesn’t really matter; the battery stopped working a while ago, about the same time Jongin’s heart stopped along with it. About the same time that the light inside of Taemin fizzled out.  
  
His gaze is cloudy and he tilts his head back to both drain another can of beer and stop the tears from escaping. It’s futile of course. The laws of gravity seem to have no effect on his tears as they fill up and spill over. Running down his apple cheeks, leaving sticky, cold trails. His brain takes that opportunity to remember the feeling of Jongin’s thumbs pressing away his tears. The warmth of his hands cradling his cheeks. The scent of his shampoo as strong arms pull him into a tight embrace. He would always whisper the same words. “It’s okay, I’m here.” Occasionally followed by an “I’m sorry” or “What’s going on?”  
  
The apartment is no longer quiet, breaking sobs punctuate across the room and echo into every empty space. The sounds bounce off the window, drowning out any other noises. The blood in Taemin’s ears is rushing furiously, temples pounding and fingers shaking. Clear, sticky snot runs from his nose, making him choke here and there. The tissues have been used up, he hasn’t been outside to re-fill them and so the pillowcase and his long sleeved pyjamas would have to do for now…again.  
  
His hair – though still striking and ashy – is greasy and itchy. He needs a shower, he needs food and he needs to move on with his life. Taemin doesn’t want to. He is afraid to live, to love, to be happy without Jongin. The light inside of him has been pulled away with a snap of fingers. With the screech of tyres and sounds of breaking glass. Why wasn’t it me? He thinks, every day, every second. Why wasn’t it me?  
  
“You’re a very lucky man” the doctor had said to him as he woke up in the hospital. He wasn’t lucky, not one bit. How can he be lucky when the only good thing in his life was gone. When his heart had been torn from his chest. When his love for Jongin and his prayers weren’t enough to save the dying man. The machines beeped loudly, too loudly. Something was jumping around on the screen, like mini mountains or a wavelength of sound. The doors burst open, Taemin’s clammy hand separating from Jongin’s callous caramel one. Nurses and doctors filled the room in a flash, Taemin was forced outside. He didn’t get to say goodbye. Just like that, in less than ten minutes, Jongin was taken from his world.  
  
He doesn’t want to be alive anymore. All he dreams about is never waking up, or waking up to an angelic face. To the warm honey skin enveloping him and the sentence “It’s okay, I’m here.” Every time, his eyes open and everything isn’t okay…Jongin isn’t there.  
  
It’s with a heavy conscience that he doesn’t end his life. The doctors fought to save him, it took hours of surgery and weeks in hospital. How can he throw that back in their faces? On the other hand, how can he live without Jongin? Trapped. Trapped alive. That’s what it feels like.  
  
The sound of bass pumping up above breaks his train of thought and he wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt (it isn’t a pleasant feeling). He feels how his brain tunes into the music from the noisy neighbours and his face breaks into a smile because he can see him. Only at times like this, when he allows his mind to detach and bask in the glow of alcohol can he see Jongin without feeling an intense sadness. He watches the way Jongin’s body moves and rolls to the bass. Sharp angles are precisely followed by a soft and intimate flow. Jongin always looked his best when he was dancing. Sweat making his skin shimmer, the look in his eyes was sheer pleasure. He can see the halogen lights of the dance studio as they reflect from caramel eyes and sink deep into his own hazel orbs. A crooked and cocky smile graces Jongin’s lips. Quirking them in a way that shows how soft and plump they are. Jongin throws his head back, eyes gazing directly into the lights. Taemin thinks again that it feels like the taller male is gathering all the light in the room and shining it out through his movements. His adams apple bobs, looking prominent with his head thrown so far back and then Taemin’s knees go weak and a stirring happens in his loins when those eyes are burning a fire into his own and a sinful tongue is wetting already panting and parted lips. Jongin moves closer, aligning their bodies and leaning forward to press a ghosting kiss upon his boyfriend’s lips. Ghosting, that’s all it ever is because just as they are about to meet, the vision disappears and Taemin spirals into a fit of anger. No amount of alcohol can seem to make Jongin anything more than a memory and yet, every night, he tries.  
  
The boy’s figure lays spread against the bedsheets. His eyes closed, body slumped. The cold of the room creeps upon him but he doesn’t feel it through the haze of the beer jacket he is wearing. The wind howls now, swirling past the full moon and pelting the harsh concrete with splattering rain.  
‘Maybe, just maybe…’ Taemin thinks ‘…a tornado will hit and take him away…lightning will strike him down… maybe, hopefully, he just won’t wake up this time.”  
  


**_Are you aware the shape I’m in?_   
_My hands they shake,_   
** _My head it spins._

  
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’m not at all saying that I am depressed and/or suicidal but I am saying that I was feeling down and upset. I needed a creative outlet and so, this is dedicated to my dog of 16years whom I love dearly, who unfortunately was put to sleep two days ago. RIP my little furball, I love you to the moon and back.
> 
> Xx L xX


End file.
